How To Succeed in Evil (6 page)

Dr. Loeb has no idea. Edwin lets him struggle with the question for a while. Of course, Edwin knows the answer. He knew long before Dr. Loeb sat down. The only question in Edwin’s mind is – can he get Dr. Loeb to recognize the answer? It’s a long shot, but if Dr. Loeb can have a moment of clarity, then a world of possibilities will be created for both of them.

You see, Dr. Loeb (by birth, Eustace Eugene Rielly the Third) is but a dilettante in the world of evil. A tourist, if you will. Or more precisely, a spoiled child who, by virtue of a sizable trust fund, has grown to become a very spoiled adult. He has no sense of accomplishment. There are not many obstacles for the super-rich. There are precious few things for the young scion of wealthy family to test his mettle upon. Eustace does not care for polo or sailing. He is bad at business. Charity work does not suit him. But he has managed to find something to call his own. That it is ridiculous, absurd and counter-productive, is no detriment for Eustace. In fact, that is what makes being an Evil Genius all the more attractive to him.

This is because Eustace’s mother, Iphagenia Rielly, is controlling, shrewd and manipulative. The widow Rielly sees to it that her son has what the rich refer to as “a little money,” but has denied him any substantial funds. Of course, Iphagenia will tell you that she loves her son unconditionally. This means that anything other than her love comes with conditions. If Iphagenia was given to introspection, she might realize that she would have been much happier with a child that was genetically modified to remain an infant. Since Eustace hit puberty, she has consoled herself with a series of small furry dogs.

Eustace has been driven to more and more bizarre forms of rebellion in his efforts to get his mother’s attention. But until this moment he has not dared to utter his most secret hope. A hope which Edwin means to twist to his purpose.

All of Eustace’s defenses and fantasies are stripped away. He speaks softly. “I became a villain to get back at my mother.”

Edwin smiles. Now he is getting somewhere. Edwin doesn’t believe in revenge. There’s rarely a profit in it. But Iphagenia Rielly possesses a mind-boggling amount of money. For the first time in the interview, Edwin uses Dr. Loeb’s real name. “Now, Eustace, what would it be like when you have your revenge?”

“She, she, she’d have to do what I told her.” Eustace looks around nervously, expecting his mother to catch him in the middle of this confession.

“Control. You would have control.”

“Yes,” he says , “domination.”

“Domination,” says Edwin. Tears of gratitude well up in Eustace’s eyes. Then the fear comes over him again.

“Can we really do it?”

Edwin is going to explain that if Eustace will listen to him, and hire the right kind of lawyer, that they have a very good chance of success. But he is interrupted by an explosion at the back of the room.

“MOTHER!” cries Eustace in terror.

The dust settles. At the other end of the room is a figure clad in spandex. “It is I, Superlative Man!”

“He iz come to do battle with me!” Eustace cries with joy in his voice. “I am ze villain, ze sinister Dr. Loeb and he must stop me. You take your life in your hands when you tangle ze fearsome intellect of ZE LOEB!”

Edwin tries. “Uh, Superlative Man, is it? It’s not clear that my client is guilty of breaking any laws.”

“Superlative Man doesn’t buy it. “What are you trying to say? He's evil. Just look at him. No self-respecting or law-abiding citizen would dare dress like that.”

Insanely, Dr. Loeb agrees with him. “I am EVIL! He must stop me before I strike again! Manful COMBAT!”

Edwin tries again. “Eustace, that is, Dr. Loeb, you might want to rethink this. He’s got a good 40 pounds on you and he just shouldered his way through a wall.”

But it is no use. The high redoubts of Fort Reason are overwhelmed when the man clad in spandex yells, “Superlative Man, into the fray!”

Edwin pushes his chair back from the table. As the two men brawl, Edwin uses the intercom. “Agnes. Things are winding down in here. I’ll need a full contract package – ”

Superlative Man holds Dr. Loeb over his head and slams into the conference room table.

“What was that? Yes, yes, absolutely an accidental death and dismemberment waiver. And I believe Dr. Loeb will require prompt medical attention. Thank you.”

For all his posturing, things aren’t going well for Dr. Loeb. He is pinned under Superlative man’s knee. In pain he gives up on all pretense and distress. An uninterrupted stream of Lower Alabama profanity pours forth from Eustace’s slobbering gob-hole. Such filth, thinks Edwin. Such a remarkable knowledge of the anatomy of farm animals.

Superlative Man wrenches Dr. Loeb’s arm hard against its socket. “Yield villain, Yield!” Dr. Loeb’s shoulder lets go with a sickening crunch. The profanity drops off to a whimper.

Ah, that’s nice, thinks Edwin. And then he produces a small nickel-plated pistol from his desk drawer and shoots Superlative Man in the leg. Superlative Man, cries out in shock and surprise. The blood drains from his face and he collapses on the floor.

“You shot me!?!” he says, in firm command of the obvious.

Dr. Loeb looks at Edwin through a haze of pain. His arm sticks out from behind his back from an absurd angle. Before he loses consciousness he says, “Thank you.”

Edwin replaces the gun in the drawer. “No thanks required. It will be added to your bill.”

“You have been busy,” says Agnes as she stands in the doorway and surveys the carnage. “Is that the tang of cordite in the air? Destructive meeting I trust?”

“No, no. An excellent meeting. However, it has left Dr. Loeb in need of medical attention...”

“And what shall we do with this other poor unfortunate?” Agnes dials 911 as she speaks.

Edwin looks down at the man in the costume. Superlative Man. Of course, he was no superhero. There is nothing superlative about him whatsoever. He is an out-of-work actor trying to earn some extra cash. Edwin feels a stirring of some unidentifiable emotion for him. Not pity. Of course not pity. Whatever it is, he puts it from his mind.

“He should be handled with some discretion,” says Edwin. No doubt when the actor returns to consciousness, he will be terribly upset about being shot. It is not Edwin’s fault that the actor did not thoroughly read the death and dismemberment rider.

Edwin does not approve of violence. It is too unpredictable, too hard to control. But he had needed a way to earn Dr. Loeb’s trust beyond all question. He doesn’t think that this farce was a bad solution, but he feels that he has somehow fallen short.  He feels that, if he had a little more time, he would have been able to develop a more elegant solution.

“He has bled rather a lot,” Edwin observes.

Agnes covers the phone with her hand and says, “Yes dear, that is my next phone call. Unfortunately, 911 does not dispatch carpet cleaning services.” Agnes pauses thoughtfully. “But when you think of it. Excuse me, do you —” an outraged squawking comes through the phone. “Well then, we’ll just have the ambulance.”

Agnes hangs up the phone. “You see, this is precisely what happens when you do not take the time to enforce and develop a quality serving class. That woman was unapologetically rude. I will never understand why such a bright, sensitive man such as yourself has chosen to make this savage country your home.”

“It’s where the work is,” Edwin says, “and now it seems I must go to Alabama.”

“Heaven’s no! Edwin I forbid you to go.”

Edwin looks at her.

“Of course, what I mean to say is.”

“I know what you mean to say. It will be fine, Agnes.”

“I predict disaster. I predict disaster.”

“Yes, my dear, but you always predict disaster. You have long called for the downfall of Western Civilization.”

“No, no, Edwin. Not calling for. Bemoaning. Bewailing. Cassandra crying out in the savage wilderness of America.”

Chapter Nine 

What Do You Want Mr. Windsor?

Edwin ducks as he exits the jet. He feels a pain in his back. There’s not an airplane door in the world that was built for someone of his stature. The atmosphere of the place hits him. The humidity, the heavy sweetness in the air, the sharp tang of aviation fuel – All of it combines to make it known, not just intellectually, but physically that Edwin has come to Lower Alabama. He watches Dr. Loeb’s shaven head reflecting sunlight as the odd man he rushes to the car.

Edwin rolls his neck, trying to loosen the muscles in the middle of his back. Halfway down the stairs, the heat and the humidity really kick in. Edwin mops his forehead with his handkerchief. There is a voice in his head that tells him that this trip is a mistake. Edwin tries to ignore it. It is not easy.

The city slides by the car windows and soon they are in the country. Here there are ill-omens. A possum dead and strung out across the road. Vultures that hop out of the way rather struggle to rise in the thick air. The trees, gnarled and ancient, disturb Edwin in a way he cannot articulate.

It’s not that Edwin dislikes nature. He does prefer the clean lines and precise angles of the city. Art, Architecture, Commerce, all the higher functions of mankind are displayed to maximum advantage in a city. Here things burble and suck. They feed on one another and swell in the heat. How could anyone hold a crease in a suit in this climate? How could one even hold a thought? Edwin wonders if the humidity is swelling his brain.

As they pull off the road onto a tree-lined private drive, Dr. Loeb says, “Ah, vee ar hear!” In a reaction to this bizarre homecoming, Eustace has intensified his accent. His words are now so thick and imprecise that Edwin cannot understand what the odd man says. This is a comfort to Edwin.

As a rule, Edwin does not think about clichés. He inhabits a world of possible cause and probable effect. So, the magnitude of cliché at the end of the tree-lined drive is lost on him. There is a two-story white plantation house that has been built, rebuilt and restored to the specifications of an antebellum wet dream. It has white columns, a white balcony and countless other frilly touches of extra whiteness that seem to be tacked on just in case you forget what color person is in charge around here.

As they exit the car, a well-kept woman in her 60’s presents herself on the balcony. She waves to them with the corner of her white shawl. When she speaks, in the rich, broad tones of gracious, educated and sugary Southern accent, “Why Eustace, you have returned.” It almost sounds like she is a loving mother who has missed her son. Almost.

At the sight of his mother and the sound of his real name, Dr. Loeb becomes embarrassed and defensive. “Rease porgive zizz voman,” he says awkwardly, “Xhee iz de-rang-d. Sinks xhee izt moin marver.”

“And I see you have brought a friend,” Eustace’s mother exclaims with delight.

“Zizz ist Herr Vindsor!”

“I must confess. I haven’t the slightest idea what the strange fruit of my loins just said.”

“I am Edwin Windsor. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Mr. Windsor, please forgive my son. He’s de-ranged. But I expect you already knew that. Come in, come in. I shall be glad to receive you in the fo-yay.”

A large black man, who wears a long-suffering expression as if it is his uniform, emerges from the house and takes the luggage. Edwin follows.

As he enters, Edwin is slapped with a wave of cold air created by unseen air conditioning units. He is further assaulted by the sight of Iphangenia Reilly floating down a curved staircase in a pretty fair approximation of “Gone with the Wind.” This cliché is also lost on Edwin. But he can see that this woman is going to be formidable. Or, at the very least, formidably ridiculous.

In the awkward pause. Dr. Loeb attempts to excuse himself. “I must see to my verk.”

“Is that any way to greet your mother?” Iphagenia asks. “You don’t call. You don’t write. And you know how I worry.”

“High vas avsorbed mit verk. I Vust Vee to it kuh-now.”

“You will not see to your work or anything else. Alabaster, take him to his room and see that he does not leave. I will deal with him later.” The large black man tucks Eustace under his arm and walks away.

Dr. Loeb breaks character. “But MomMMA!”

Iphagenia dismisses him with a wave of his hand and then turns her attention to Edwin. “I am sorry you had to see that. He was so sweet when he was just a boy. But as he grew... bless his heart.” Edwin is very careful to maintain a neutral expression. The entire game could be lost right here.

Iphagenia leads Edwin into a painfully formal sitting room. “Do you have any children Mr. Windsor?”

“No.”

“Well you simply must have some. They are such a delight,” she looks out the window, “when they are young.” Now she turns back to Edwin, and with the full wattage of charm that only generations of gracious living can provide she says, “But heavens, where are my manners? Would you care for some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She rings a small bell and soon Alabaster arrives with two glasses of iced tea on a ornate silver tray. Iphagenia takes a sip and sighs with theatrical delight. “Now Mr. Windsor, tell me, how is it that you have come to know my su-suss--uh…” unable to finish the word son, she trails off when she sees that Edwin is holding his glass of iced tea between his thumb and forefinger as if it is a dead thing he has found underneath his chair.

“This tea is cold,” Edwin says.

“Iced. It’s called iced tea.”

“Would it be possible to have a proper cup of tea? A Darjeeling or an Earl Grey perhaps?”

“Alabaster, what other kinds of tea do we have?”

“Pekoe,” the large man says clearly, but without expression.

“Will that suffice?” Iphagenia asks in a way that seems hospitable, yet somehow winds up indicating that she thinks Edwin is horribly rude.

Edwin, is unable to hide his distaste. Orange cut peoke tea, surely brewed from bags. Tea bags which invariably contain the lowest grade of tea. It would be little more than the dust and twigs and foot sweat from the floor of an Indian tea sorting room. “That will be fine,” Edwin manages to say.

Alabaster leaves. “His family has been in my family for five generations,” Iphagenia explains with pride. “But, how rude of me. You haven’t come here to discuss history, have you? Tell me, how is it that a man like you has become,” and here she pauses for effect, “friends with my son.”